“I didn’t say it was. Here’s some pictures.” He shoved his phone into Callahan’s hands before either of them could say another word. Callahan swiped through the gallery so quickly, Jace didn’t think he’d even looked at the content of the pictures Jace had taken.
His favorite picture was in that album. It was one he’d taken of himself on a self-timer one morning before the sun had risen fully. It was all soft light and rich shadows, and he’d loved the look of it more than anything he’d captured before.
“That was quick,” he remarked when Callahan reached the last picture, one of Jace and Remington with their arms around each other. Remington smiled proudly, a polka dot bow tie around his neck and his thick black glasses perched atop his nose.
“They’re good,” Callahan said, tapping his finger against Remington’s face.
“You barely looked.”
Callahan’s cheeks flushed a dark crimson that stretched out, coloring the tips of his ears. “I’ve seen them.”
“When?” Jace balked.
“Sebastian showed me.”
“Shit.”
Callahan dropped Jace’s phone back into his lap and patted his hands against his cheeks.“I like the one of you,” he said softly.
Then Jace blushed. He tossed his phone onto the table beside his camera.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked, his throat warm with his own embarrassment now.
“I recognized you.”
Callahan’s voice had taken on a rough sort of rasp that had Jace shifting on the couch, unsure if he wanted to move closer or flee.
“Oh?” he croaked.
“Mmmn,” Callahan agreed, reaching over and skirting his fingertip beneath the hem of Jace’s shirt, just over the ridge of his hip. “I didn’t know it the first time I saw it, but now I do. It’s right here.”
Jace swallowed, his resolve and his worry and his fear crumbling in the face of this new and unrestrained version of the man he thought he’d figured out. Callahan’s fingers plucked at his shirt and raised it slightly, revealing the shallow dip of his waist. He traced his finger over the curve of musculature, then held his fingers still against Jace’s skin.
“Am I right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought so.” Callahan pulled his hand back and Jace’s shirt fell back into place. “I’m not like him. I’m not like them.”
“I know,” Jace said, and for the first time, he believed it.
Chapter Seventeen
Callahan Finds Himself
Jace’s entire demeanor changed, and Callahan felt like he’d climbed Mt. Everest. The man had two sides, the Jace that had approached Callahan at the club the night they met, and the Jace who survived dinner with the worst and the most miserable of St. George’s College. Callahan much preferred the first Jace, with his casual confidence and sly cockiness, but breaking away bits of the closed-off and fortified version of Jace also had him feeling some kind of way.
Jace’s skin had been hot against his fingertips and Callahan would be lying if he said he didn’t want to take Jace back to bed and get him dirty all over again. He glanced at the clock beside the television. It was barely eleven; they still had hours before they had to get dressed and head over to the college. He intended to take as much advantage of the time as he could.
“How did you get into photography?” he asked, his hand still hovering near Jace’s hipbone.
“I got a camera in high school as a Christmas present,” Jace answered, his eyes turning cloudy. “It was digital. Honestly, it was a piece of shit, but I was hooked.”
“What do you like to take pictures of?”
“Things mostly. Sometimes people. I like to find beautiful things.” Jace cleared his throat.
“You did,” Callahan agreed, flexing his fingers against Jace’s side.
